Remnants
by serpensortia863
Summary: His touch was soft, his kiss genuine, and in that moment she felt as though he were taking up the shattered remnants of her past and making her whole again... (MP one-shot)


Disclaimer: Marcus Flint and Penelope Clearwater are both owned by J.K. Rowling. Unless you ask either Thalia Kendall or myself, who would argue that they are in fact owned by each other.

~*Remnants*~

_Why love if losing hurts so much? We love to know that we are not alone._

_~ C.S. Lewis_

Even his eyes were poisonous, twin pools of toxin that seeped into her thoughts when she least expected it. It had been so long… so long since she'd last seen him, but that didn't stop the memories of him from lurking insistently on the edges of her consciousness: the salt of his lips, the slant of his smirk, the sharp edge of his words. And his green eyes, flecked with gray, that always saw so much when they met hers.

She could safely say that he was the person she'd most feared to see here. As a nurse in these dangerous times, she'd grown used to seeing faces she knew in St. Mungo's; she'd even learned to feel numb when those faces left in the paleness of death. But this face… his face… hit her as hard as if she were the one that had been hit with the Unforgivable. She couldn't believe it. She heard his voice and felt his eyes on her, and still she couldn't quite believe it.

Even now, checking up on him during her rounds, she felt as though she were stepping into a dream. He looked so different, lying back, eyes closed, face free of any signs of troubled sleep. She could almost pretend he hadn't felt the pain she knew he'd been through. She could almost convince herself that his unconscious thoughts were not concerned, but sweet… perhaps he dreamt of her.

She took another step closer, and suddenly his eyes were open. She felt bare to the sharp-edged gaze, as if he could see through her to the thoughts no one else could see. And yet, she wasn't sure she objected. It was almost comforting to know that, somewhere in the chaos of the world, there was someone who saw her, knew her as she really was.

"Are you feeling all right?" It was the same strict logic that had made the Sorting Hat put her in Ravenclaw that now kept her calm. Had she allowed herself to act on desperate instincts, she would have thrown herself into his arms, where she knew that, at least for a moment, she would feel safe. 

"If by 'all right' you mean is it unlikely that the constant stabbing pain will actually kill me, no matter how much it feels like it will, then I'm fine, thanks."

She couldn't help but smile at the lop-sided grin he shot at her. "I'll get you a potion for the pain. It should help you sleep as well."

"I was just hoping you'd kiss it and make it better. I did mention I hurt everywhere, right?"

She felt the flush creep into her cheeks in spite of herself, his satisfied smirk at her expense only making it worse. 

"Didn't think a little war would change anything, did you, short stuff?"

His smirk disappeared when she met his eyes, though he was not sure what emotions he saw in them because she couldn't quite identify them herself. She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't. What could she say to the man she'd only dreamt about for so long?

Before she knew what she was doing, she'd turned away – away from the pain, away from the worry, away from the long nights she'd spent just wondering if he was alive. She didn't know what to do… she hated not knowing…

"Stay."

It was as if the word were a physical barrier in the doorway that barred her path. She looked over her shoulder into green eyes, eyes that she'd never seen plead with her before, but she knew they were pleading now. How could she have thought that everything that had happened hadn't affected him, that he was doing anything but being strong for her sake? 

"Stay with me," he said again, and it was wrong that he could be begging and still have such power over her.

"You know I can't." 

She wasn't sure whether she was telling him or herself. Even as she spoke she was approaching the side of his hospital bed, putting herself within reach of the arms she wanted to hold her. He had only to take her hand, and she was sitting at his side. He said nothing, only looked at her, as if in that moment he could drink in all that had happened to her since he'd left. Then he said with a faint smile, "I know nothing of the sort."

And then he was kissing her, as if nothing had changed, as if she hadn't felt herself dying for the loss of him. Her mouth opened willingly beneath his, and she tangled her fingers in his dark hair. She couldn't breathe, didn't want to unless she could breathe of him, his fresh scent that seemed to fill her with new life. She knew she smelled of hospitals, sterile and clean, with just a hint of rosewater hanging about her – not exciting, not invigorating like him. 

Even after their lips parted, she held him, clung to him, afraid that if she were to let go, she'd find this really was just a dream, an illusion of a desperate imagination, and he'd be gone again. 

"Penny?"

It was soft, gentler than he usually knew how to be, and she knew he'd sensed her stiff sadness when he began smoothing her dark curls down her back. She held him, her lips swollen from the kiss but her eyes swollen with something much less beautiful, and all she could think was, "You left."

His hands were on her shoulders, holding her back, though she wasn't sure whether this was so he could see the misery that showed in her eyes or so she could see the naked regret in his. "That's a mistake I'll never make again."

"You can't change the past," she replied, stubborn in her insecurity where she sat so exposed before him. 

"You're right." He looked at her for a long moment, then carefully caught her lips up in his for a single kiss, so light she thought she might have imagined it, but no… The kisses she dreamt about were hard, rough like his hands on her skin, passionate like him. "You're absolutely right," and the only apology she needed was the one in his eyes. "But I would give it all up for this future."

She smiled, couldn't stop herself from smiling, because those were the kinds of things he said when she was least expecting it, the things that made her shudder to hear. His touch was soft, his kiss genuine, and in that moment she felt as though he were taking up the shattered remnants of her past and making her whole again. And this time when her lips were on his, there was no past, no war, no loss, no suffering… there was only love, and the dreams that he had made come true.


End file.
